


better than you do

by eagleboycos



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abuse, Bleeding Out, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Gun Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, Mind the Tags, Murder, Recreational Drug Use, proceed at your own risk i guess lol, this is really oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 15:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eagleboycos/pseuds/eagleboycos
Summary: “I fucking said answer me, Proko! God fucking damn!”Kavinsky snarled.“Is there someone else?”He half spoke, half growled the words slowly, over-enunciating each syllable. Prokopenko was only vaguely aware of the sound of the safety of a gun being clicked off.And then the hand on his jaw was gone.So was the gun.Prokopenko slid down the wall, not stable enough to keep his legs under him without Kavinsky pinning him up.





	better than you do

**Author's Note:**

> Warning again: **READ THE TAGS.** If **abuse, murder or violent descriptions of people dying** bother you, please tread carefully.
> 
> Also, a **disclaimer:** Writing things like this is how I cope with my own issues. Anything I post that involves abuse or abusive relationships (especially Prokopinsky and Rovinsky things) is a piece of fiction that I wrote to cope with my trauma. _I'm not encouraging nor excusing any abusive behavior._ Characters _in_ these works of fiction may try to rationalize and shift the blame from their abuser (as Proko does here), but I want it to be clear that I do not encourage or excuse abusive actions from any character no matter the circumstance.
> 
> Title and end note lyrics are from Smarty by Lana Del Rey.
> 
> Enjoy!

**“God damn it. _Answer me,_ Proko. Are you fucking _brain dead?_ ”** The barrel of the revolver dug painfully into Prokopenko’s chin, jerking tears into his eyes. Proko took a shaky breath.

 **“Can you… u-um... r-repeat the question, please?”** It felt like he was watching everything from behind his head with the volume turned down. Kavinsky pulled Proko forwards and slammed him back against the wall all in one quick movement, making Prokopenko flinch. The pictures on the wall rattled. Proko squeezed his eyes shut tightly, wishing he could just vanish.

 **“Don’t patronize me, Proko. I’m not in the mood for your fucking bimbo act.”** Kavinsky practically growled the words into Prokopenko’s face. K cussed nigh constantly, but for some reason, every _‘fuck’_ cut into Prokopenko’s heart like a scalpel. Proko felt like his mind was on shutdown mode, but he desperately tried to think of what could possibly dispel the situation.

He’d tried kissing up to K. That hadn’t worked. The moment Proko’s hands had touched his arm, Kavinsky pulled a gun on him. Kissing up usually helped. If it didn't halt the situation, it usually took the sharper edges off. If that didn’t work, sometimes Prokopenko pretended he was into whatever was happening, which either lead to K getting frustrated and leaving or fucking Proko over the arm of the couch. In this situation, though, Proko decided against that route. The third option was giving K a punch square to the nose, but Proko knew that fighting back was never an option. K was stronger than him, had multiple weapons and had no qualms about hurting people.

Proko hated the fear that coursed through him, he hated the anger bubbling in Kavinsky’s chest, hated the blind rage that made K draw his gun. Most of all, he hated the fear that he knew was fueling Kavinsky’s rage. Person after person had left K’s life to the point where he was terrified of ever letting anyone else out.

That should not have made Proko love him even more. But it did.

Proko loved K like someone loves a rabid dog. On the outside was a vicious, snarling animal, but they knew the warm, loving animal they’d had before was in there somewhere, unwillingly taken over by the virus. Sometimes, though, rabid animals were far, far too gone to ever come back.

 **“I’m sorry,”** Proko whimpered. Kavinsky stopped, looking at Prokopenko with a strangely amused look on his face. He made a sound that sounded like laugh but, given the context, was certainly not one of enjoyment. Kavinsky’s voice was low, but steadily increasing in volume.

 **“I am so fucking _sick_ of you, you know that?”** He hissed. **“I am so fucking _sick_ of you making me out to be the bad guy. I’m not the fucking bad guy, Proko!”** K was shouting now.

 **“You aren’t t-the bad guy.”** Proko affirmed quietly, trying to quell the shake in his voice.

 **“Then don’t fucking _look_ at me like that!”** Kavinsky’s voice broke. Prokopenko couldn't tell what made his voice break like that, but it wrenched his heart like a vice.

Proko slowly reached his hand up, cupping Kavinsky’s face in one hand. It was a risk, given the loaded gun pressed to his jugular. But Kavinsky didn't react. He just kept angrily staring Proko down. After a few moments of not having a bullet in his neck, Prokopenko raised his other hand and laid it gently on the other side of K’s face. Proko was flooded with relief as Kavinsky let his eyes shut. _It was working._

 **“You aren’t the bad guy.”** Prokopenko’s voice was as soft as silk. **“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”**

Kavinsky’s eyebrows twitched inwards. Proko’s heart jolted.

_‘Please stay calm, please stay calm, please-’_

**“Do you wish you were away from me?”** Kavinsky’s eyes were still closed, but his eyebrows were tightly drawn in.

 **“No.”** Proko whispered. It wasn’t a lie.

**“Do you wish you were with someone else?”**

**“I have _your_ initial tattooed on my neck.”**

Kavinsky’s eyes opened, just as fiery as they had been before. It took every ounce of control in Proko’s body not to flinch. The hand that K had fisted in the front of Prokopenko’s hoodie moved up to his jaw. Kavinsky jerked Proko’s head to the side, showing the inky black _‘K’_ tattooed on his neck in a fancy cursive script. Kavinsky looked back up at Prokopenko, hand still gripping his jaw.

**“That doesn't answer my question.”**

**“K, you’re hurting me-”**

**“Answer me!”** K’s hand only tightened, pulling Proko’s face towards his, forcing him to look him in the eye.

 **“I-..”** He tried to speak but the words were choking up in his throat. His breaths were coming fast and his mind was numb. He adored Kavinsky. He followed him like a baby duckling. Prokopenko knew he would do almost anything to make Kavinsky happy; the one thing he wouldn't do is lie to him.

 ** _“_ I fucking said _answer me,_ Proko! God fucking damn!”** Kavinsky snarled, but he stopped, realization blooming over his features. The hand on Prokopenko's jaw tightened, making a whimper of fear come from Proko. He couldn't lie to Kavinsky. 

 _ **"Is there someone else?”**   _Kavinsky half spoke, half growled the words slowly, over-enunciating each syllable.

Prokopenko was numb. His brain had stuffed cotton into his ears from the inside out, dragging him away from his senses to try to escape. He was only vaguely aware of the sound of the safety of a gun being clicked off. Something in the back of his mind told him to move or say something or tell him the truth or _punch him, for god’s sake_ , but the thoughts didn't make their way to his muscles to do any of those things.

And then the hand on his jaw was gone. So was the gun.

Prokopenko slid down the wall, not stable enough to keep his legs under him without Kavinsky pinning him up. Sounds were reaching his ears but his brain couldn't exactly make sense of them. There had been the painful sound of skin meeting skin, a firing gun, clattering metal, muttered obscenities; the sounds of a fight. Proko knew fights well. He’d been in more than he could count. Prokopenko looked up from staring at the floor.

Skov was on top of Kavinsky, fist slamming into his face over and over. K’s hands scrabbled at Skov’s clothing, trying to find a way to get him off, but Skov wasn’t budging. Jiang and Swan ran into the room, eyes wild.

 **“Skov, dude, what-”** Swan started. He interrupted himself with a gasp as Skov toppled over with a crunch. K had the revolver in his hand again and had smashed it against Skov’s cheekbone. He recovered quickly, ready for K when he launched himself at him.

The pair careened into the wall, feet away from Proko, who didn't flinch. Swan stepped forward to try to break up the fight when another fire of the gun sounded. Swan and Jiang both ducked instinctively, but thankfully, the bullet had hit the TV.

 **“Mother** _ **fucker!”**   _Swan spat, his eyes wide with amazement and fear.

Infighting in the pack was not uncommon. It was a favorite pastime of most of them, especially Skov and Swan. This, however, was not just a playfight. It was not a brawl that stemmed from testosterone fueled rage. It was not a fight for show, that much was clear.

K had tried to shoot Skov twice now. This was real.

Skov tossed K over the couch effortlessly, his already buff build strengthened by rage and adrenaline. Kavinsky scrambled, reaching for the dropped revolver. He had just gotten a finger on it when Skov brought his foot down on K’s hand, drawing a groan of pain from Kavinsky’s throat. Skov bent and snatched up the revolver. His finger found the trigger with unsettling speed and he aimed it at Kavinsky’s head.

 **“Skov, Skov, Skov! Dude, don’t!”** Swan put his hands up in a universal sign for _‘whoa, boy’_ , stepping closer.

 **“You didn’t fucking see what he was doing!”** Skov whirled, turning his torso but keeping his foot crushing K’s hand. He threw out his arm in Proko’s direction. **“Look at him!”**

Swan turned and startled. He hadn’t noticed Proko’s unmoving form. Jiang walked over, lithe and quiet as a cat, silently kneeling beside Proko. Jiang brushed Prokopenko’s blonde hair away from his face gently. Swan swallowed.

**“Is he-”**

**“He’s not dead.”** Jiang said. It was the first time he’d spoken. **“He’s dissociating.”**

 **“What happened?”** Swan looked from Proko to K, shocked.

 **“I came in because I heard yelling. He had Proko pinned on the wall with a gun to his head just fucking screaming in his face.”** Skov’s voice cracked like he was crying. Proko looked away from Jiang to look at Skov. Tears clumped his long eyelashes together and shone on his cheeks.

 **“Are you sure they weren’t-... Like…”** Swan made a gesture that vaguely mimed him fucking someone. Everyone knew Proko was into some sketchy things as far as sex. In fact, if the whole situation had been just for foreplay or something, Prokopenko probably would've been into it.

 **“The fucking safety was off. Would Proko look like that if that was consensual kink shit?”** Swan looked back at Proko’s glossy eyes and void expression.

**“I… Well… No. I guess not.”**

**“Exactly. So-”** Skov turned and aimed the gun again.

 **“Dude! Fuck! Don’t fucking blow his head off!”** Swan interrupted, grabbing Skov’s arm.

 **“And why the fuck not!?”** Skov whirled, yelling now. **“He was going to do the same thing to Proko!”**

Swan put a hand on the side of Skov’s neck, making him look at him. **“Don’t stoop to his level, Skov. Don’t fuck your life up for this. Proko’ll be okay, he’s alive and he’s right there.”**

 **“God, you’re fucking stupid, Swan,”** Skov looked at Proko, lowering his voice. **“Do you really think this is the first time K’s done shit like this? I’m sick of standing by and watching it happen. In fact, I should have done this the moment I realized what was going on.”**

Swan shook his head, matching Skov’s volume. **“Proko’s suffered enough. Don’t make him have to watch this.”**

They were quiet for a very long moment, just looking at each other. Skov swallowed hard.

He removed his foot from Kavinsky’s hand. He let Swan pull him away from K a few steps. Jiang released the tension in his shoulders, bending his head and whispering something in Russian to Proko, holding him close.

For the first time since he sat down, Proko moved; he simply pointed. Then, in a soft voice, he said: **“Skov-”**

Kavinsky’s fist smacked into the side of Skov’s face, sending him reeling. The glass coffee table shattered as Skov fell back into it. K moved too quickly for Proko to keep track of, reaching for somethi-

_BANG._

The room was very quiet. Everyone had stopped moving. Swan’s face was frozen in shocked horror.

K stood over Skov. From where he sat, Skov was obscured from Proko’s sight. Panic began to creep at the edges of his consciousness. He willed his body to move, to look and see if Skov was okay, but he remained where he was. His muscles felt disconnected from his brain. He silently begged Skov to _get up, get up, please get up,_ but Prokopenko couldn’t see him.

Jiang pressed Prokos head closer to his chest with one hand. He maintained a mostly straight face, but Proko heard his friend’s heart racing. 

And then Kavinsky fell.

It wasn’t graceful; he stumbled backwards a few steps, hands pressed to his torso, then tripped backwards and landed on one elbow. The noise of pain he made when he hit the floor was… pitiful. Prokopenko’s first instinct was to run to K’s side to comfort him while someone called 911, but he didn’t move. It was not like before where he was unable to make himself move. It was instead that he started to move and had stopped himself.

Kavinsky was a rabid dog, too far gone to ever come back.

The dark haired boy choked back a pained sob. Blood soaked his white tank top on both sides. It spread so quickly through the white fabric, redder than Jiang's riced-out Supra. There was blood slicking Kavinsky's hands.

No one had moved any closer to him.

Skov got up, glass tinkling as he brushed it off his clothing. There was some blood splattered on his face and shirt, but he seemed uninjured save for a few cuts from the glass. Skov and Swan looked at each other. Skov looked relatively straight faced, his mouth in a hard set line, but Swan looked shocked and confused, his eyebrows drawn up and his eyes wide.

None of them had ever seen anyone be shot, and certainly none of them had ever shot someone themselves.

 **“Wh… What do…”** Swan swallowed, voice shaking like an earthquake. **“What do we do?”**

Skov’s mouth tightened. **“Nothing.”**

Kavinsky looked up at Skov, eyes wild and scared.

 **“What?”** Kavinsky looked shocked for a moment before his face morphed into panic. **“No, wait, fuck! Call a fucking ambulance!”** He howled, looking at Swan with desperate eyes.

The pack had never heard Kavinsky say please in the year that they had known him. K expected orders to be followed; the pack had to do _what_ he ordered, _when_ he ordered. Even as he lay on the floor with a bullet in his stomach, he still barked instructions at the boys.

Swan didn’t meet his gaze.

 **“Jiang!”** K snarled, curling in on himself in pain. Jiang looked up, meeting Kavinsky's gaze. He glanced back down at Proko, then glanced at Swan and Skov. He looked uncertain, like he was a child deciding what candy he wanted.

Jiang looked back at Kavinsky. Proko thought he was going to get up for a moment, but Jiang just stared. Kavinsky’s face contorted into a grimace laced with pure anger. 

 **“Proko.”** Kavinsky simply spoke the boys name, but Prokopenko’s hands began to shake again. **"Come here."** K was not shouting; he was not loud, he wasn't yelling. He wasn’t yelling, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t absolutely furious. 

Proko stayed still. Kavinsky gritted his teeth.

 **“I _said_ get your ass _over_ here.”** He growled through his teeth as he clutched the gunshot wound in his side. His voice had begun to regain its heat, his chilly tone being melted away by desperation and frustration. 

Proko’s ass stayed right the fuck where it was.

Prokopenko had always been a follower. He was a puppy, a barely-walking fawn, a baby duckling. He had always followed along behind whoever had told him to the loudest. He had rebelled in small ways before; kissing Skov at parties for just a little bit too long. Choosing to ride with Jiang to school instead of K. Sitting at Swan’s table in biology. This was it, though. This was the final act of defiance. Relief made its home in Prokopenko’s chest where there should have been regret and fear.

 **“I said _come fucking help me_!”** Anger fueled the volume of Kavinsky’s cry, but fear and pain shook his voice so intensely that Prokopenko felt a little sick. 

Joseph Kavinsky's pack of dogs was leaving him to be eaten by buzzards.

There was a sizable pool of blood around K, now. His nose was bleeding and red stained his teeth. K coughed, choking and spluttering on blood and sobs and tears and his own pain. Prokopenko looked away, unable to bear the sight of watching K choke on his own blood as he sobbed.

 **“I.. fucking… I fucking _hate_ you.”** Kavinsky whimpered, interrupting himself with coughs. Prokopenko dared to look up.

K lay on his side in a pool of his own blood, the side of his head resting on the floor, staring at Proko. Kavinsky’s emerald colored gaze met Proko’s ice blue one. K’s eyes didn’t match his words. He didn’t look angry; he looked scared, his eyebrows drawn up and his eyes wide with tears on his cheeks.

Perhaps the most shocking thing about K’s eyes were his pupils. They weren’t coke-blown or pin prick-sized.

That meant Kavinsky was sober.

That meant Kavinsky had _threatened him with a gun_ and tried to _kill_ Skov and he was _sober_ while he did it. Prokopenko did something, then, that he had rarely ever done in his life. It was something so daring that he had always been too scared to do it.

He got mad.

 **“I know.** **You made that pretty clear all those times you beat the shit out of me.”** Prokopenko spoke quietly, but his gaze was fierce.

Kavinsky almost looked sorry as his eyes glossed over.

 

 

* * *

 

 _"Baby, if you loved me, you would call me your bunny,_  
_Tell me that I'm just a baby, honey_  
_Beat me and tell me no one will love me_  
_Better than you do..."_

**Author's Note:**

> To cheer you up after this, I'll tell you that in my Google Drive, the document name for this fic is "Skov gives K the ratta tat tat."


End file.
